


A Muse of Fire

by dheth



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Everyone lives, F/M, Hard in Hightown was just too tempting, Mutual Pining, you know The Tale of Champion would basically be a love letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dheth/pseuds/dheth
Summary: O for a Muse of fire, that would ascendThe brightest heaven of inventionIn which Evelyn Trevelyn finally reads Hard in Hightown, Cole is rooting around in people's feelings, Bull's skills of observation are put to a less serious use, and Varric just wants to be left alone.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	A Muse of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thanks to lady_deathangel for betaing!

“I know one thing – if Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him.”

The words echoed in Evelyn Trevelyan’s head as she watched Marian Hawke saunter down the steps.

It was an inspiring sight; it would be impossible to forget that this was the Champion, larger than life even when she was standing right in front of you. Leliana’s words and Cassandra’s inevitable ire made it difficult for Evelyn to focus. Well, that and the expression Varric was wearing. Expectant, somehow, but more than that. 

There wasn’t time to determine what it could be before he retreated to give them a semblance of privacy. She mentally shook herself so she could attend to her conversation with Hawke. 

Puzzling out Varric’s reaction would have to wait.

————————————————————

When Varric had asked Hawke to come to Skyhold he hadn’t been worried about much beyond Corypheus being back, the rifts still littering Ferelden and Orlais, and the presence of Red Lyrium and the Templars who were using it.

It was plenty to be worried about, obviously.

He really should have been worried about the Seeker’s reaction, too. In his own defense, they’d become far less antagonistic as they’d worked together and fought alongside Lucky. He hadn’t dreamed she’d react so violently to finding out about Hawke. Of course, he also hadn’t thought she’d really believed that he’d lost contact with her.

The fact that Lucky had not only stepped into the fray but also defended him was a surprise. He was immensely glad she’d happened upon them before Cassandra had successfully cornered him. His nose was already bordering on ‘too obviously previously broken’ for his tastes.

After that debacle he made an effort to be friendlier and more open with Lucky. It helped that Hawke was there – everything felt easier with Hawke alongside him, even befriending the Herald of Andraste.

————————————————————

Hawke had been surprised at some of the questions the now-Inquisitor put to her when they’d met.

The ones about Corypheus and that whole mess were exactly what she expected, of course, and given that Varric was fond of her, the sense of humor wasn’t a shock, either. But Lady Trevelyan asked her about her old companions. 

‘Surprise’ might have been overstating it, but considering how many pressing issues she had to deal with they had been unexpected all the same.

Still, plenty of people had asked about her time in Kirkwall since Varric’s book had widened the reach of her fame, or infamy, so considerably. She was rather tired of everyone assuming that Anders would be with her just because she’d sided with the Circle and hadn’t killed him, though.

“I’m not sure where he is,” she responded, leaning back against the wall of the tower. “The last I heard he ended up leaving the mages who survived the Gallows. Or possibly getting kicked out. I couldn’t kill him, but after what he did I wasn’t very interested in keeping in touch, either. If you need a Grey Warden mage, though, I could contact Bethany.”

“You…” The Inquisitor trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words for a moment. “You  _ didn’t keep in touch _ ? But you were in love!”

“What? In love with  _ Anders _ ?” Hawke asked, the idea startling a laugh from her. “What gave you that idea?”

“ _ The Tale of the Champion _ !”

“Oh, Maker. Is that why everyone expects him to be with me?”

Trevelyan nodded, looking shocked, and Hawke rolled her eyes at the thought.

“I knew I should have insisted on seeing Varric’s drafts. Too late now. Anders.” She shook her head. “Couldn’t resist throwing in a doomed romance, I suppose. Varric has a flair for the dramatic in his writing from what I hear. And the tragic.”

“Evidently.”

————————————————————

The Winter Palace, or more specifically their invitation to the ball that was likely to be the setting for the assassination of the Empress, couldn’t wait.

The whole thing was half rushing into life-threatening danger and half standing around with nothing to do but have a bunch of pompous Orlesians talk at him about his own books.

Worse still he hadn’t been able to convince anyone that Hawke should be there with them, least of all Hawke.

“I thought you were going to  _ save _ an Orlesian and  _ prevent _ chaos. Have you forgotten what happened the last time I went to an Orlesian party?”

“No, no. Look, just shift the murderous chaos toward the Venatori. Besides, imagine the Empress’s face when you’re announced.”

“You mean because I almost started a war between Kirkwall and Orlais? I’m trying not to imagine her instantly having me hauled off -”

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“- and we wouldn’t be able to see her face, anyway.”

“Shit. Fair point.”

So he’d ended up stuck with the worst sort of fans  _ alone _ while Hawke was probably living it up in the Herald’s Rest back at Skyhold and flirting with everyone in sight. Not that he was bitter or anything.

————————————————————

“Not that I’m bitter or anything,” Varric said as he was wrapping up his rehashing of the ball to Hawke.

She threw her head back, laughing.

“You made me go through that shit alone! You know what Orlesians are like – that’s cruel and unusual.”

“You were hardly alone, Varric,” she said once she stopped laughing at him. “And it wasn’t just my decision, anyway.  _ You _ were the only person who thought me being anywhere near that place was a good idea.”

“The Empress wouldn’t have done anything to you, Hawke. Not when she was so busy trying to get Lucky onside.”

“So instead we would have both been cornered by admiring Orlesians and you would have still been alone. I know misery loves company, but come on. How would that be better?”

“No,” Varric shook his head with a smirk, “instead we would have found a nice admiring servant -”

“Sounds like they were all a bit preoccupied with murder and intrigue, too, but it does also sound completely scandalous. I like it.”

“- and hidden in the library with as many bottles of champagne as we could carry.”

“Oh, that’s not scandalous at all!”

“Disappearing with a handsome rake of an author at the Winter Palace isn’t scandalous enough for you?”

“Please, you’re no rake,” Hawke dismissed, grinning at his mock offense. “You look the part, sure, but I’ve woken up hungover and completely clothed in your bed enough times to know it’s not true.”

“That wouldn’t be rakish, that would be something else.”

“It’s possible you don’t have the same definition of ‘rake’ as the rest of the world. That sounds exactly like a situation most self-professed rakes would use to their advantage – so I’m very glad you’re not a rake at all. Perfectly gentlemanly, in fact. Stick to being a handsome  _ rogue _ of an author,” she said, knocking her boot against his. “I have to admit, though, I would pay a lot of coin to have been able to see Cullen attempting to dance with the Inquisitor.”

“And her loving every second?”

“It sounds charming. And, more importantly, to make  _ you  _ dance with  _ me _ . Even if I am in a very hot and heavy relationship with Anders…”

“Did you actually read it or did someone finally tell you?” Varric asked with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

“ _ Anders _ , Varric?!?”

————————————————————

Varric appreciated going to Crestwood with Lucky to meet up with Hawke and Alistair.

Well, he appreciated it in theory. In practice the place was wet and muddy and full of possessed corpses and desperate villagers. The rift in the lake just added to their joy, really.

And he couldn’t bring himself to complain about anything but the weather. Lucky had a propensity to stop and help absolutely everyone and he appreciated that. It made it impossible to dislike her even if he still struggled with seeing her as a person rather than the symbol all of this had made her into. It reminded him of Hawke, of all the time he’d spent running around with her helping all and sundry in Kirkwall, which meant it never failed to endear her to him.

Varric would have been with the Inquisition no matter what because  _ someone _ needed to fix this mess and he’d been there at the start, anyway. So while Lucky couldn’t hold a candle to Hawke the fact that he actually liked her made it easier.

So he kept his complaints about anything beyond his poor ruined boots to himself as they fought their way through bandits and demons to close the rift for Crestwood.

————————————————————

Seeing Varric again gave the sudden sunshine a run for its money.

It was vaguely ridiculous since it had only been a few days since they’d last seen each other. But then, Hawke had spent six of her seven years in Kirkwall and some time after that seeing him every day. The only people she’d spent more time with were her family. While she also loved and missed the rest of their merry band of misfits, their absence hadn’t stung in the same way Varric’s had.

She was under no illusions as to why. Not that it did any good.

Meeting with Alistair unfortunately just meant discovering they needed to go to the Western Approach. A desert still affected by the blight even though it had been centuries since it had last been hit by a Blight? Hawke struggled to imagine anyone choosing to go there.

Perhaps if she was extremely lucky there wouldn’t be Darkspawn pouring from the Abyssal Rift.

For the next night, at least, they’d be staying near Crestwood in the fortress the Inquisition had laid claim to. From there they’d be venturing out to kill bandits, a wyvern,  _ and _ a high dragon. Inquisitor Trevelyan was possibly as mad as Hawke herself.

————————————————————

The keep was empty and cold, mostly. Although that would be doing a disservice to the damp still clinging to the stone walls. They had what could be spared from the nearby Inquisition camps, but even combined with the bandits’ spoils it was barely enough to make a few rooms habitable.

They’d made it through a few rounds of Wicked Grace and some increasingly drunken stories after dinner, complete with Bull’s roaring laughter and Cole’s happy bewilderment, before people started heading to the beds in their shared rooms. Lucky pulled a copy of  _ Hard in Hightown _ that he was fairly sure had originated from the Seeker. She settled in to read, Cole looking over her shoulder curiously.

Varric was too busy guiding a very drunken Hawke to their room to do more than give the scene an affectionate look.

They spent some more time catching up further on some of the myriad things that hadn’t made it into letters over the past years –  _ years _ , Maker he was getting old – before he opted for telling her increasingly outrageous and over-embellished stories purely to watch her dissolve into giggles.

Slowly their drunkenness gave way to exhaustion and Hawke fell asleep curled on her side, smiling at him.

————————————————————

_ Hard in Hightown _ had been out for long enough that Evelyn really ought to have read it already, but life in the Circle and then trying to navigate the chaos after meant that she’d had little time to read for pleasure.

Between Varric being a prolific and popular author and Cassandra being a fan of his work  _ Hard in Hightown _ had been thrust into her hands by the Seeker as they’d headed out to Crestwood.

She didn’t mind. Varric was a good writer and being able to take a break and read something other than reports was welcome.

Evelyn’s immersion in this fictional Kirkwall was brought to a screeching halt when she got to the introduction of Marielle, the dead Magistrate’s wife.

She read it again. And again. The expression Varric had worn on the battlements at Skyhold certainly made more sense, now.

“ _ She had eyes the color of aquamarines, _ ” she read out in a whisper, “ _ and dark hair that fell across her brow like sword-strokes. The scent of lilacs clung to her, dark and sweet like a spring evening. She strolled into the parlor with such dignified elegance… _ Well, that’s a bit of a stretch, Varric.”

“Not to him.”

Evelyn started.

“Cole,” she breathed. “You scared me. I forgot you were here.”

“Sorry,” the spirit murmured, sounding both chagrined and distant. “ _ You’re _ figuring it out. They haven’t.”

Evelyn gestured next to herself on the bench and Cole proceeded to sit facing her, legs crossed and shoulders hunched.

“They? Reading that, seeing how he looks at her, I realized how he feels. Does she…?”

“Yes?” Cole answered in the questioning tone that meant it was painfully obvious to him.

“Not everyone can sense emotion, Cole,” she reminded him gently as she turned to face him on the bench and crossed her legs, mirroring his posture.

“Yes. He is luminous, light, lighting her path. And she is longing, longing for so long, certain he could never. It hurts almost as much to be in his light as out of it.”

“And Varric?”

“It’s… harder to see. He doesn’t hurt with it like she does. He accepts. She is here and it soothes. And she smiles and it’s enough. It’s the first time I’ve seen him not alone, lonely, lost.”

Evelyn pondered for a moment, resting her arm on her legs and drumming her fingers against her boot.

“I want to help, somehow. But I want to be sure.”

“You always do.”

“I always do what?”

“Want to help. Try to help. And want to be sure. He wants to be sure, too. Broken, trying to mend for both of you, for all of us. But you see the cracks and love them. You should both trust.”

She looked down, feeling her face heat with a blush. She should have been used to it by now with Cole, hearing him bring up the most personal of things. But it hadn’t ever been about her before.

“How long have you -” Evelyn started to ask, looking up and stopping with a sigh when she saw she was alone.

————————————————————

Hawke woke blearily the next morning, her hangover swiftly convincing her to get up and get to some tea immediately. She sat up, suppressing a groan, and chucked a pillow at Varric’s head as she called his name.

“I hadn’t missed your wake up calls, for the record,” he grumbled as he pushed himself up and leaned back on his arms.

Nothing like a disgruntled dwarf first thing in the morning.

“It always works,” Hawke replied with a grin before looking away under the guise of standing and stretching. He looked warm and tousled and  _ perfect _ .

“And you let me sleep in my armor,” she added as she gingerly pulled at the leather. It felt as though every stitch and buckle had embedded itself into her skin. “That deserves far more than a pillow.”

“Like I was going to risk waking you up,” Varric scoffed.

“I have buckle imprints on my ass!”

“There aren’t any buckles on your ass. And it can’t be that bad: it didn’t stop the snoring.” She could  _ hear _ his smirk.

“I do not snore.”

“You’re infamous for it in the Hanged Man.”

“I have no doubt.  _ You _ managed my reputation. The only thing you liked more than embroidering my exploits was making me sound ‘approachable’. We both know that if I snore I would have heard about it every morning for a year from Gamlen.”

“Shit. He is way too grumpy to not complain about it. Fine.”

Hawke looked back at him with a smirk as he got to his feet.

“Come on, I need tea.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She shrugged and headed out. Probably better all around if she didn’t spend any more time looking at him half-dressed, anyway.

————————————————————

It was easy to fall back into the comfortable teasing friendship he’d always had with Hawke; the rhythm of banter and stories and jokes. There was still so much to catch up on. Neither of them had been idle in their time apart and while they’d written often, letters just weren’t the same. Still, by the time they were heading back to the keep to nurse their wyvern-induced wounds it was easy to forget she’d been gone at all.

Having Hawke back was like having himself back. The hole she’d left in his life had been filled again and the ache of missing her was gone.

Oh, he’d made plenty of friends in the Inquisition, but there was only one Hawke. The Inquisitor herself probably came closest but even if she hadn’t been made into a symbol, she was more serious than Hawke. Serious in a dragged-down sort of way that echoed the melancholy that had been threatening to swallow him up. The others were all fine, good even, but no one else  _ fit _ like Hawke.

He had put it all together years before but having her back in his life, the way it made everything more bearable and less hopeless, there was no way around it, now.

They spent the evening much the same as the one before, but with significantly less alcohol because in the morning they were going to seek out a fight with a high dragon.

Tiny had been as close to ecstatic as Varric had ever seen him when Lucky announced it and Hawke’s eyes had gotten a definite gleam, too. Varric and Alistair had both groaned, remembering their own previous experiences in fighting dragons, while Cole shared Lucky’s simple determination to help the people of Crestwood.

Varric and Hawke had bowed out earlier than the others, mostly to resume catching up. Lucky and Tiny seemed to sincerely like the Kid, though, and Alistair was kind, so Varric felt no guilt in leaving him. It was a relief to know he was making other friends who saw him as more than just a spirit or demon.

Hawke had insisted on changing into her robe as soon as they got to their shared room to avoid falling asleep in her armor again which meant seeing her long bare legs all night.

————————————————————

As it turned out, having an absolute mountain of a Qunari  _ and _ one of the Wardens who had killed the Archdemon  _ and _ a quasi-spirit who could flicker across the battlefield (even if he did tragically lack her style and athleticism)  _ and _ Trevelyan throwing spells in addition to Hawke’s daggers  _ and _ Varric wielding Bianca meant they made relatively quick work of the dragon. It was grueling and Hawke would be feeling that fight for days, but they were all still standing.

Hawke was itching to move on from Crestwood, though. Varric assured her that a little more time at Skyhold would prove to her that it was more than enough big cold stone fortress for anyone.

“What will I do without your early morning grumpiness and obvious lies about how I snore and talk in my sleep, though, Varric?” Hawke asked with an overly-sweet smile.

“I’d say I’d just go tease you about it every morning but given your fondness for using pillows as projectiles, I think you’ll just have to bear the depravation.”

“Oh, but you’re always a tease. No need to make an effort.”

“I’d tell you two to get a room,” Bull interjected, “but that clearly doesn’t help.”

The Inquisitor nearly choked on her drink.

Bull promptly, neatly turned the conversation to telling Cole about the… friend he was going to introduce him to, which sounded like a disaster in the making. Hawke caught Varric looking at Trevelyan warily. Then she saw the knowing look Alistair was giving her. And thank the Maker Varric was distracted because that look would have given her away in a heartbeat.

Her friendship with Varric was torturous at times but Hawke couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

She shook her head slightly at Alistair before turning her attention to Bull and Cole.

————————————————————

It was difficult for Varric to enjoy Bianca being at Skyhold when he knew how dangerous it was for both of them. Add to that the sense of foreboding he got when she brought up Red Lyrium almost immediately and the situation was less of a mixed blessing and more of an outright curse.

Andraste’s tits did he hate feeling that way about seeing Bianca for the first time in years.

It was what it was, though, so despite still being thunderstruck by the whole thing he pushed his feelings aside when Lucky showed up, introduced them, and explained the situation.

The way her eyebrows kept creeping up and up as she watched them was… something. Unsettling and obvious, for a start. He wasn’t sure exactly what that expression meant and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

She agreed to go with them. That was the important thing.

But, Maker, Hawke had never met Bianca. Had never even had her existence explicitly confirmed, even if she obviously knew. What was she going to do?

————————————————————

Meeting the woman Varric was in love with hadn’t been something Hawke had wanted to do for years, now.

When they’d first met, sure. They’d been acquaintances and hopeful business partners on their way to becoming friends and she’d been curious. By the time they’d made their way out of the Deep Roads she had known she didn’t want to meet the woman who was more important to Varric than she was. At the time the idea that it meant she was falling for him had never crossed her mind, but it was painfully obvious now.

She managed to smile and laugh at the right places during a conversation she could barely remember before beating a hasty retreat, ignoring the bemused look Varric gave her.

They’d want time to themselves, anyway.

The kicker was that Varric was exactly the person she wanted to talk to. They’d been there to console and comfort one another so many times before that it felt wrong to not be able to go to him now.

Since that wasn’t an option, Hawke sought out Alistair and tried to convince him to leave for the Western Approach with her as soon as possible. They could wait for the others there, after all.

He’d refused because he had sense, pointing out how much safer they’d be with the group and just how much he didn’t want to spend any more time in a blighted desert than he had to, and Hawke’s pain and frustration had reached a boiling point.  _ That _ had resulted in Alistair hurriedly bundling her into the nearby empty tower.

The near panic at her tears might have been funny under different circumstances.

“She’s  _ here _ , Alistair,” Hawke managed to choke out as she attempted to stop her tears before she was truly sobbing. She hated crying in front of people.

“Who’s here?” he asked, clearly trying to approximate a calming tone to go with his obviously sincere concern. “What has you wanting to run off right this moment?”

“Bianca,” she whispered. She buried her face in her hands. “Bianca’s here and I – I can’t handle seeing them. Not now. Not on top of everything else.”

“ _ The _ Bianca? Oh, no,” Alistair murmured, reaching over to pat her shoulder awkwardly. Hawke moved in for the kill, wrapping her arms around him, and after a moment he relented and hugged her back.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan is going with them to check something out,” he said, his cheek resting against her head. He was much better at hugging than shoulder patting. “She came to tell me we’d have to delay leaving, that a friend of Varric’s is here with information about another Red Lyrium source nearby.”

“A friend?” Hawke scoffed.

“That was how she told me,” Alistair replied with a small shrug. “But that means you won’t have to see them. And when they get back we’ll be leaving.”

She let go of him and stepped back with a nod, drying her eyes. Delaying going to the Western Approach was a gamble, but so was leaving a source of Red Lyrium available to Corypheus and his Templars. They’d just have to try to make good time after.

At least she wouldn’t have to see Varric and Bianca being all lovey-dovey in the meantime.

————————————————————

After deliberating in the evening, Evelyn had decided to bring Bull and Cole with them. She wanted to hear what Cole picked up on with Varric and Bianca and it would be best to get Bull’s read on the situation as a Ben Hassrath.

Bull had already been observing Varric and Hawke, after all. He’d been in on the whole thing since Crestwood.

She went to see him in the appallingly-named tavern and he assured her that the noise of the crowd would be sufficient to cover their conversation. And then he rattled off a read on Hawke and Varric.

It was a reminder of just how good he was at his job. Even knowing he’d been watching them Evelyn hadn’t noticed it. He was staggeringly adept at using the impression he made to conceal just how clever and observant he was.

“You’re gonna have trouble getting them to open up, boss,” he said as he motioned for another round of drinks. Come morning she’d no doubt regret allowing him to talk her into drinking the same thing he was. “They’re good at bottling it up. A decade of practice, right?”

“I know,” she sighed. “But he’s my friend, I want him to be happy. As happy as he can be with all of this going on, anyway. He lights up when she’s here. I’m not sure clinging to his past with Bianca doesn’t make him miserable. Assuming he is clinging to it.”

Bull gave a deep hum in agreement.

“Doesn’t mean it’ll work, but I’m still in. Not planning on making this a hobby, though, I hope,” he added, managing to seem both nonchalant and vaguely ominous.

“You mean with you? Please,” Evelyn chuckled. “You may be entirely too good at being disarming but this has been ample reminder that I could never keep something like this from  _ you,  _ even if I wanted to try.”

“Good. You couldn’t. Your bluffing is for shit, boss.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t try to dispute it.

“Besides, you seem content enough. Any luck talking Dorian out of his robes, yet?”

“Not yet,” Bull replied with a smirk. “But I’m telling you – drawn to the forbidden. Like Cullen with beautiful mages.”

He paused to take a sip and watch Evelyn duck her head.

Bull gave one of his roaring laughs. “See?” he said, grinning. “Can’t bluff for shit.”

————————————————————

Varric’s sense of foreboding grew as they went deeper into Valamarr. It wasn’t just being in a cave generally, which he hated, or being in dwarven ruins particularly, which he hated even more. Although given his past he thought it could be excused if that had been it. No, it was Bianca.

Her stories from before they’d been separated and her efforts at lightheartedness hadn’t been nearly enough to distract him from the memory of her tone at Skyhold.

The entire situation was off. Why had she come at all? She could have just told him what she knew in a letter and not painted the targets on them anew. She could have gone ahead and berated him in a letter for not writing sooner if that had been the goal.

They hadn’t seen each other in years because it was dangerous. Bianca rushing off to the seat of the Inquisition would end up being public knowledge sooner or later and it was already public knowledge that he was part of the Inquisition. That would make even the occasional letter more difficult – and dangerous – for them.

Bianca had to realize that. She was brilliant, after all.

And then she sealed off the tunnel, her key in her door, and the truth he’d been refusing to accept had hit him.

They’d argued, said things they’d no doubt be apologizing for in some future letter or other, and Varric had already headed for the door when he heard Bianca say something to Lucky in a hushed voice.

He didn’t have to hear the words, her tone was enough to tell him it was a threat.

He turned, unsure of whether or not he could make himself tell Bianca off  _ again _ , to see Lucky straighten to her full height. Her entire body tensed, her grip on her staff going white-knuckled. Varric was sure those were ice crystals forming on the orb of her staff. If looks could kill they’d be returning Bianca to the Stone there and then.

It was the scariest he’d ever seen her. Even Tiny looked impressed.

She took a deep breath before turning on her heel and striding from the chamber.

————————————————————

Hawke was rather confused when the Inquisitor returned to Skyhold so obviously in a foul mood.

The only times Hawke had ever left Varric’s company in a bad mood were the rare occasions they’d argued or after they’d witnessed at least one tragic death. Granted, there were extenuating circumstances there, but surely between Varric and Bull a smile could be coaxed out of anyone.

But the party had returned, sans Bianca, and Inquisitor Trevelyan had locked herself away with Cole, Bull, and Cassandra. She wondered if they were planning for the Western Approach or if they were simply the friends who had shown up to try and cheer her up. She struggled to imagine Cassandra cheering anyone up, though, or Cole being included in planning anything.

Hawke went to find Varric. She was curious about what had happened, admittedly, but mostly she wanted to be there for him if whatever had happened had upset him, as well.

“Your Inquisitor seems to have a bee in her bonnet,” she stated as she perched next to Varric’s paperwork on the table in the Great Hall.

“She’s a busy woman with a lot to deal with,” Varric replied smoothly, continuing to read seemingly uninterrupted.

Hawke frowned slightly at being ignored and reached over to pluck the offending letter from his hands, prompting a sigh.

“Look,” Varric said, rubbing his temples when he saw her skeptical look, “let’s go get a drink. I’ll tell you there.”

She smiled, satisfied, and hopped to her feet.

“After you, Messere.”

He led her not to the tavern but to his quarters. Something more serious, or maybe more personal, than she’d thought, then.

Hawke promptly sprawled sideways across one of the familiarly low-to-the-ground chairs, her legs dangling over one of the arms as she angled herself so she could face Varric.

After a moment he handed her a glass and sat across from her with a sigh.

“It’s Bianca,” he said unceremoniously. “We went to this old abandoned dwarven outpost of some kind. Lucky and I had cleared out some Carta there with the Seeker and Chuckles -”

“Chuckles? Now you’re giving other people my nickname?”

“It never stuck,” Varric said, sounding a touch impatient. “We’d cleared it out before the disastrous shit at Haven – the ‘getting attacked by Red Templars’ shit, not the ‘blowing a hole in the Veil’ shit.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, it connects to the Deep Roads. And apparently to the thaig where we found the idol.”

Hawke winced in sympathy; neither of them liked being reminded of  _ that _ .

“Yeah, not somewhere I really wanted to be. When she showed up like that part of me knew, but -” He grimaced and looked down at his drink. “She was the leak, Hawke.”

“Wait a minute. Bianca?  _ Your _ Bianca? Why?  _ How _ ?”

“She knew about it, of course. The idol. And Bartrand. And I had told her the location at some point, Maker knows when let alone why. She knew I was trying to get information on the stuff. So she tried to find someone to help her research it. She found Larius. She said he’s a  _ mage _ . How does that even happen?”

“I… don’t know,” Hawke replied, more taken aback at the idea than confused. “I’ve never heard of anyone manifesting magical ability as an adult. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“It had to be Corypheus,” Varric said, taking a sip of his drink. “Somehow. Larius has to be the one who told him about Red Lyrium, about the power it gave Meredith. He wouldn’t care about what it did to her after that. If Bianca wanted Larius’s help with her research she would have told him  _ everything _ . She’s… very thorough. So he’s our link. And now he’s a mage.”

Hawke shook her head and downed some of her drink.

“I can almost understand the Calling thing,” she said. “Almost. He is a Darkspawn and a Magister. But to make someone a mage? Even with magic, even with magic as powerful as his, and a connection through the Blight… I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“Yeah. Weird shit.”

“Understatement,” Hawke frowned. “But Varric, she didn’t  _ mean _ to do anything like that. She wasn’t the one who told an evil megalomaniacal Darkspawn all about Red Lyrium. She was trying to help you.”

“I know,” Varric replied. “I know. That isn’t the point. Lucky basically said what you did but I was too angry. I just… went off. We argued.”

“Still not seeing why Trevelyan looked so murderous.”

“I’m getting to it, Hawke. So impatient. This is why  _ you _ never listened to my stories -”

“The ones that were about me that you stopped telling when I was in earshot?”

“- or read my books.”

“I lived one of them and the others are all  _ serials _ , Varric.”

“Yes, and you’re impatient,” he replied with a smirk. “Too impatient to read a serial even when it’s finished and bound as one volume.”

It was a relief to see something like a smile from Varric, but Hawke was also familiar with his derailment tactics. She waved off the implication.

“I listen to your stories that aren’t about me. So, finish this one.”

“Right,” he sighed. “We argued and I walked away. I didn’t hear what she said, but she made some sort of threat to Lucky.”

“She threatened the Inquisitor? To her face? Trevelyan might be the most important person in Thedas after that business at the Winter Palace. She definitely has one of the biggest armies. Seems like a bad move, especially for a genius. But… Trevelyan gets threatened all the time, from what I hear. Usually by people who actually want to kill her.”

“Yeah… Maybe it was because it was coming from a friend of a friend?” Hawke raised an eyebrow at that. Varric ignored it. “Who she’d just helped. And stood up for. I just know that even with Venatori coming out of the woodwork at the Winter Palace, even after stepping back out of that portal in Redcliffe, I’d never seen her that mad.”

“And you aren’t going to talk to her and find out.” It wasn’t a question. Maybe once she wouldn’t have understood that, but it had been a long time, now, since she’d learned how much Varric hated confrontation. Well, confrontation with someone he cared about and not involving the inanimate Bianca.

“I’m hoping it’ll blow over.”

“You mean go away.”

“Fine, yes. I mean go away.”

“You can’t honestly be expecting that.”

“Not  _ expecting _ , no. What’s that saying about hope and springing eternal?”

“Oh, Varric,” Hawke sighed. Still, there was no point in pressing.

“Alright,” she said after a moment, relenting and changing the topic for Varric’s sake. “Since you’re apparently going to complain about it suddenly – which book of yours should I read?”

————————————————————

Evelyn found Varric in his quarters with Hawke, both of them clearly a few cups in and Hawke laughing helplessly at something while Varric looked on fondly.

He stood, still steady on his feet, when he noticed her. She wasn’t sure if it was down to some long-ingrained manners, because he was expecting her to start yelling, because despite her protests he still hadn’t quite gotten to the point of seeing her as a person and a friend, or just because she truly towered over him if he was sitting. Regardless, she waved off the gesture with a smile.

“Just coming to check-in. We should be able to leave for the Western Approach in the morning, everything’s prepared. I hadn’t realized you had company, though. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“No, come and sit,” Hawke grinned.

Evelyn hesitantly closed the door and sat in one of the awkwardly low chairs, shifting until she was crossed legged in it simply to keep her knees from being in her chest.

“Varric told me all about the normally-stoic Cullen blushing around you all the time,” Hawke said with a smirk as she stood to get another glass. “And about the dance at the Winter Palace. He also can’t decide which book of his to make me read now that I’m finally capitulating. Oh, and he wants whatever happened with you and Bianca to just go away…”

“Hawke,” Varric groaned. “You’re not helping.”

Hawke responded by giving him what was no doubt supposed to be a charming smile, though judging by the lack of complaining Varric seemed to find it plenty charming, as she brought over a cup and decanter.

“Between you two and Bull I’m going to end up actually pickled before this is all over,” Evelyn said as she accepted the drink. “But there’s not much to tell, really. She threatened me if anything happens to Varric. Something about feeding me my own eyeballs.”

“Sounds like Bianca,” Varric sighed.

After a moment she noticed Hawke still looking at her expectantly.

“What?”

“Cullen! Cullen and the blushing! I  _ knew _ he’d be the blushing type. He couldn’t even mention having to ask questions at the Blooming Rose without stammering back in Kirkwall. It was kind of cute, really. Someone who looks like  _ that _ getting flustered about sex. I wonder how many mages pined over him in Kinloch Hold and the Gallows.”

Varric rolled his eyes at Hawke’s rambling.

“You don’t have to say anything, Lucky. Hawke’s just building up to saying she thinks you should kiss him senseless because she doesn’t think he’ll make a move.”

“She  _ should _ , though! You should. The world could actually end before he got up the nerve -”

“I’m telling you, Curly’s different here. Oh, still too serious,” Varric added, gesturing as if to dispel any seriousness creeping in just by mentioning Cullen, “But he smiles. At mages, even. And especially at you, Lucky. He plays chess with Sparkler. And the Winter Palace, Hawke. He could use a good kiss, among other things, but I don’t think he’ll wait much longer.”

“Oh, Maker. How much have you two been talking about this? Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Can we talk about Varric’s books, instead?”

“Of course,” Varric said, preventing Hawke from protesting. “We’ve already eliminated  _ The Tale of the Champion _ for obvious reasons -”

“Although I am curious about this torrid, tragic love affair with Anders -”

“- and shockingly Hawke leapt straight to  _ Swords and Shields _ -”

“I’m curious about that, one, too! I never read any of the smut you and Isabela wrote. And you must have a will of iron to write smut about  _ Aveline _ . When she knew about it! How were you even allowed to live after the first chapter?”

“Simple. She never reads my books, either,” Varric replied easily. “But I know you’re really only insisting on that one because you think it’ll embarrass me.” He addressed Evelyn again. “I’m pushing for  _ Hard in Hightown _ .”

“I have to admit I’ve only read that one and  _ The Tale of the Champion _ so far, although I suspect Cassandra will be insistently lending me  _ Swords and Shields _ next, but I agree.  _ Hard in Hightown _ is the clear choice,” she said, smiling at Hawke.  “It’s got action, adventure, mystery… And obvious pining. Not that anyone wouldn’t pine after Marielle,” she said, cutting her eyes to Varric briefly before continuing. “You know the type: tall, dark, beautiful, elegant. Long legs. Looks good in black.”

Varric’s face remained neutral but his eyes had gone from pleased to panicked.

“Add in a slightly world-weary and cynical hero with a heart of gold and what’s not to love?”

“You never did tell Aveline who Donnen was based on. Or me, for that matter,” Hawke put in.

Varric chuckled at that, immediately looking more relaxed now that Hawke had steered the conversation away from Marielle.

“And I won’t. You’d tell Aveline and word would get out. I want to actually be able to go back to Kirkwall at some point.”

Hawke grinned and Evelyn chuckled obligingly before setting aside her drink and standing.

“I have some things I should see to before we head out in the morning, so I’ll leave you to it,” she said with a smile. “But I’ve been meaning to ask, Hawke – what perfume do you wear? It’s lovely.”

“Oh. Just lilac.”

“I thought that might be it. Lilac,” she said, looking at Varric. That cornered look was back in his eyes. “It really is lovely, isn’t it? Well, if you need to borrow a copy of  _ Hard in Hightown _ do let me know. Good evening, Hawke. Varric.”

————————————————————

The entire conversation with Hawke and Lucky left Varric feeling extremely wary.

He’d already known that she’d read  _ The Tale of the Champion _ , of course. It had been one of the first things they’d talked about back in Haven. And he’d seen her with a copy of  _ Hard in Hightown _ in Crestwood, so that wasn’t a surprise. It was just that she’d put it together so easily.

He was a liar, but he mostly tried not to lie to himself.

“Varric?” Lucky’s voice came softly through his door following a light knock.

“Come in,” he sighed.

She’d shown her hand intentionally, that was for sure. This was either going to be about Hawke or Bianca. Neither was a conversation he really wanted to have.

“You seem…,” She gestured vaguely as she leaned a hip against the table.

“Not sure that actually meant anything, but I’m also pretty sure you’re right,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair.

“Tell me about Bianca.”

Straight to the point, then.

“What do you want me to say, Lucky? You met her. She’s a Smith. A genius. Beautiful. Passionate. And married.”

“Granted. But also not what I meant. You and Bianca, Varric. I know you can’t talk about the crossbow thing. Tell me the things you  _ can _ talk about.”

Varric stayed silent, just looking at her.

“Or I can talk about it,” she shrugged before sitting down. “You were young. And in love, of course. Her family, and possibly also the Merchants Guild, still not entirely sure how they tie in, objected. She was married off to someone more acceptable…” she trailed off.

“Very succinct,” he replied dryly. “But that’s the gist, yeah.  _ Why _ do you want to talk about this?”

She gave him a level look, silent and nearly unblinking for a moment that stretched on and on.

“Fine,” he said, cracking under the pressure of her steady gaze. “Andraste’s flaming knickers, you’ve got a worse thousand-yard stare than my old tutor.”

“I helped with some of the younger pupils at the Circle.”

“I shudder to think.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” she said with a gentle smile. “It won’t work.”

“I’m not sure what you expect me to say, here. Except that I rue the day you picked up  _ Hard in Hightown _ .”

“Give me a little credit – I would have figured it out, anyway,” she replied. “The Anders thing in  _ The Tale of the Champion _ . That’s the mistake Bianca was talking about? Not going after Hawke?”

“Shit,” Varric sighed and rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. Maybe? I told her some about Hawke, of course. We wrote a lot more then. But I never…”

“Told her how you feel?”

“Awkward topic with your first love.”

“I’d think so,” Lucky said with a small nod.

She was silent for a moment, her already solemn mood clearly dropping. Varric waited as she seemed to come to a decision.

“I lost my first love,” she finally said haltingly. “When our Circle rebelled.”

“Fuck,” Varric breathed out.

“It’s been years, now,” she said with a weak smile. As though that made it better. As though Varric didn’t know full well that that didn’t make it better. “Ostwick wasn’t the first, but it happened. We all heard about Kirkwall, all the Circles did, we knew it was coming. James and I – we were going to go off together, after. Get married once we could. Maybe go see my family when it was safe, at least they could meet him and I could see them again.

“When it started he was one of the first to fall. By the time he died I’d pushed myself so hard keeping shields up around us and trying to heal him that the Fade wasn’t whispering to me, it was screaming. But sometimes there’s just too much damage to undo.

“I stayed with the other mages from our Circle until it was safe to go to my family. When they heard about the Conclave, I had to go. The war cost us so much, cost  _ me _ so much. I had to at least be there if there was a chance it would be resolved.”

Varric sat in silence, his gaze unfocused, for a long moment. He didn’t know what to  _ do _ with that, honestly. But he appreciated that she’d confided in him. Another piece of humanity to chip away at the image of her as an idol.

“Was he a -”

“A mage,” she said. “Cut down by a Templar. It… took a long time to move past that. Cullen is more of a surprise to me than to anyone else.”

“I’ll bet,” Varric said, shaking his head. He couldn’t imagine many people being at all capable of letting so much go to see the good in another person.

Lucky managed a small but sincere smile at that.

“If there’s one thing to take away from all of that, it’s that you can’t wait for the right time. You must know that.”

“Lucky…”

“We had good reasons to wait, too,” she added, her tone gentle. “She loves you, Varric. You already make each other happy. Maybe it’s time for you to move on, too.”

————————————————————

Hawke hadn’t understood why the Inquisitor had made such a fuss about Marielle until she started reading.

The character’s introduction, complete with a loving description of lilac perfume, left her reeling. She shut the book forcefully and paced her quarters.

Would she even have noticed it without that pointed mention? Or would she have just chalked it up to it being an obvious parallel and left it at that? After all, she knew even without reading it that  _ Swords and Shields _ had a fictional version of Aveline. Varric certainly wasn’t harboring romantic feelings for her.

Now that she’d put Trevelyan’s comments together with that description it would have been impossible to miss the theory she had been presenting. As much as Hawke wanted to dismiss it for the sake of her own sanity, her stupid, hopeful heart wouldn’t let her.

She swore off the book for all of five minutes before proceeding to spend the entire night reading.

Her late nights of reading continued during their trek to the Western Approach, leaving her exhausted in her saddle each morning. She finished it before they got there. At least then she was able to get some sleep, even if the Fade tempted her with ink-stained hands and a teasing smirk in her dreams.

When she returned it a few nights later the Inquisitor offered her a copy of  _ The Tale of the Champion _ with a bookmark placed about halfway through it and a smile that earned them a nervous look from Varric.

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Hawke plucked out the bookmark and started at the beginning.

“You make it sound like half of Kirkwall was trying to seduce me!” she exclaimed the next morning.

“Only the good half,” Varric had replied, his smile slightly off. “No Hubert or Ghyslain, I promise.”

“Only half?” Trevelyan had asked with a laugh. “Just wait until you get further in.”

“A hero – or heroine – should be desirable,” Cassandra added with a glance at Varric, either backing him up or ribbing him.

“Clearly,” Dorian said, sounding jovial.

“Exactly,” Varric said, ignoring Dorian’s laughing tone. “And half of Kirkwall  _ did _ want to get in your pants. They were just too intimidated.”

“They did not!” Hawke replied with a laugh. “Isabela, yes, but that’s about it.”

“You can’t be serious. Merrill had a frankly staggering crush on you, Fenris was one pointed conversation away from falling completely from the moment you agreed to help him, and Sebastian was ready to abandon the Maker and start worshipping  _ you _ at the slightest hint it would be welcome. Not to mention Anders following you around with hearts in his eyes.”

“Blatant exaggeration! Lies, even!”

“He willingly went back into the Deep Roads with you. Twice.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s still just some of our friends.”

“ _ Most _ of our friends. And every miner in the Bone Pit, Seamus Dumar, Feynriel, basically everyone else you helped, which alone covers nearly half of Kirkwall, most of the staff  _ and _ regulars at the Hanged Man, that one helpless mage who turned up there -”

“Do they didn't! That one mage, I grant you, but he was so horny and sloshed it doesn’t even count. I’m surprised he didn’t hit on  _ you _ just because of how low-cut your shirts are.”

“They’re unbuttoned, not low-cut. And I don’t think he swung my way.”

“Same effect, Varric. And I don’t think he did, either. That’s my point. He would have hit on anything with a pulse. It doesn’t count.”

“It was hilarious, though.”

“You wanted to kill him after that line!”

The others exchanged a look at that. Huh. In retrospect, yeah. A little suspicious.

“Oh, it  _ was _ a murderous-offense-level bad line,” Varric said, shifting in his seat, “but still hilarious.”

“The point is,” Hawke pushed on, “that nowhere near half of Kirkwall was lusting  _ or _ pining after me.”

“Your complete obliviousness to it does make you staying single make a lot more sense,” Varric replied. “We had bets going, too. You cost me a lot of coin.”

“I still can’t believe you shoehorned in a romance. With Anders, no less. Although knowing you’re convinced he was in love with me does make  _ that _ make a lot more sense.”

“Trust me, he was.”

“Tell me it’s at least a good one.”

“Only the best for you, Messere.”

“Oh, just wait,” Trevelyan added with a smile.

————————————————————

As a general rule, Varric was amused when people got so invested in his books. But then as a general rule people didn’t read them once and immediately divine his deepest feelings from them. Lucky was clearly the exception to a lot of rules.

Varric stood outside her tent awkwardly for a few minutes, debating even going in. What would talking to her accomplish? They’d already talked about it. And the Seeker was obviously in on it, too. Even Sparkler was at least amused by it.

Still, he had to try.

He called her name softly and entered when he heard her answer. One look at her and he started pacing, at a rare loss for words as the serious possibility of losing Hawke hit him again. His frustration with the situation, and the Inquisitor, worsened as he thought.

“Maker,” she muttered, sitting heavily and starting to unlace her boots. “If you’re going to yell at me I’m at least going to be comfortable.”

“I was going to ask what you’re playing at, but I already know,” he replied tersely as he ceased his pacing and faced her, arms crossed. “She’s going to realize -”

“I certainly hope so!” she interrupted, clearly exasperated, pulling off one boot forcefully and starting on the other.

“She’s my best friend!” he whispered fiercely. He couldn’t  _ actually _ yell at her, not without everyone in the camp hearing. “She has been for a decade! Through betrayals and an invasion and losing family and getting caught up in a war. I can’t lose her, Lucky,” he finished, his tone near-pleading.

“Oh, Varric,” she sighed, her voice gentle and concerned. “Who said you’d lose her?”

“I -” he stopped abruptly when she started unbuttoning her doublet after pulling off her second boot. “Andraste’s ass! What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“I just can’t resist the chest hair,” she replied in an over-the-top sultry voice before rolling her eyes. “I’m changing clothes, Varric. It’s late, I’m tired, and it’s my tent.”

“You couldn’t wait?”

“Oh, turn around, then. I grew up in a Circle, I’m used to changing in front of people. Personal space was a luxury. And I’m not going to be naked. Some of us wear shirts. Buttoned-up shirts, even.

“Anyway,” she said once he turned around, grumbling, “you won’t lose her.”

“ _ I _ think I would.”

“Why? What makes you think that?”

“I just….” He trailed off, unsure of how to explain it.

Because Hawke was beautiful, clever, funny, kind, and amazing. Because she could have her pick of just about anyone with a little effort. Because he was her trusty dwarven sidekick. Because even in his own books she didn’t go for  _ him _ .

“You’re scared?” Lucky asked gently.

“Of course I’m scared! There’s too much to lose.”

“But as much to gain,” she replied. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t scared.”

“You  _ want that _ ?” Varric asked incredulously, refraining from turning to look at her only because she was changing.

“No, of course not. But I am glad you recognize how important she is to you.”

“You thought I didn’t?”

“Until recently I wondered if you weren’t in denial, or maybe just oblivious, and still clinging to your past with Bianca. You play your cards very close to your chest.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It can be. I don’t think Hawke has a clue, so  _ she _ won’t do anything about it.”

“I can’t just tell her after all this time, Lucky!”

“Why not? You’re good with words.”

“What if she doesn’t -” he cut himself off, unwilling to give voice to that thought.

“She loves you, Varric.”

“I know,” he sighed. “That’s what I can’t lose.”

“No,” she said, coming up behind him and placing her hands on his shoulders, turning him to face her. True to her word she’d kept her shirt on, long and fully buttoned, so all that was bare was her legs. Much less distracting than Hawke’s.  “She’s  _ in _ love with you. Cole picked up on it right away. And you know as well as I do that we might be facing the end of the world. No one has forever.”

————————————————————

The Western Approach was at least as bad as it had sounded: desolate, unbearably hot, and teaming with oversized exotic vicious wildlife.

Oh, and there  _ were  _ D arkspawn. And bandits. And Venatori. And a high dragon.

They arrived too late to stop the sacrifices at the ritual tower, but at least they managed to eliminate a few of the demons – and their accompanying enthralled Wardens, that detail had been a very unpleasant surprise – and had a better idea of what they were facing. Alistair thought he knew where Erimond was heading, as well, and left to tail him.

So then there were days of waiting. First waiting anxiously to hear from Alistair, then for the Inquisitor to communicate back and forth with her advisors. After that there was an even longer wait as sappers and Inquisition troops made the long trek.

They cleared the nearby Griffon Wing Keep of Venatori and settled there, a vast improvement over the Inquisition tents. The rest of their long wait was spent pursuing Darkspawn and Venatori, opening an ancient Tevinter temple that was full of demons literally frozen in time, helping an Orlesian draconologist and then, when that inevitably resulted in being attacked by the high dragon, fighting and killing her.

Hawke still had time to finish  _ The Tale of the Champion _ .

Honestly, she wished she’d just handed the sodding thing right back to the Inquisitor. There were the painful memories and seeing every mistake laid out, no easier for being expected, but the hardest part was trying to keep from reading too much into it. Varric had added and omitted so much and Hawke found most of the changes baffling.

There was the fact that Varric had relegated himself to the periphery for most of it – very odd. And, of course, there was his unsettling tendency to make it sound as though she’d been the most desirable person in Kirkwall which had, indeed, only gotten more ridiculous as the story progressed.

She wasn’t  _ that _ oblivious, whatever he might claim.

As she’d expected, though, the romance was undoubtedly the most confusing change. It was, she had to admit, well-written and passionate. 

She still had no idea why Varric had written it at all.

It cast them as tragic lovers and, to Hawke, made it seem as though love had blinded her to Anders’s faults.

It also permeated the story as a whole. It started in the first chapter with this fictional Hawke declaring, albeit jokingly, that she’d marry this fictional version of Anders on the spot after hearing about him. It had Anders, not Varric, being the one to comfort her after losing Bethany to the Wardens and after her mother’s death. And the entire thing culminated in a passionate declaration of undying love as the Templars attacked the Gallows.

It was all wrong. Not just made-up but  _ wrong _ .

When she’d been told there was a romance she’d imagined it would be mostly tangential. Varric wrote adventure and mystery, after all, and they’d had plenty of both during her time in Kirkwall.

Hawke couldn’t bring herself to ask him about it. Not that she’d get a straight answer even if she did.

She was still trying to make sense of the tangle of thoughts the book had brought on her when the Inquisition forces arrived at last.

————————————————————

Varric had noticed Hawke withdrawing as their time in the Western Approach lengthened and she got further and further into the book.

If he rued the day Lucky had picked up  _ Hard in Hightown _ he cursed the day she’d given Hawke  _ The Tale of the Champion _ .

As much as he wanted to blame her he couldn’t. He was to blame.

He, not the Inquisitor, had pushed for Hawke to read one of his books in the first place. He’d pushed for her to read  _ Hard in Hightown _ , even, forgetting just how blatantly Marielle was Marian, just how lovingly he’d described her all those years ago when he’d felt secure in the knowledge that she would never read it.

Even worse, he had been the one to write a sweeping love story into her story. Of course she would find out about it sooner or later, even if she never read it. Of course it would lead to jokes and awkward questions at best.

But he had wanted to be able to give her that much, even if it was just in a book.

Hawke deserved an epic, wonderful, undying love, after all. She deserved the world for all she’d given it, all the people she’d helped, and all she’d gotten in return was pain and loss.

Even Hawke’s obliviousness had been no match for the thousands of words and hundreds of pages he’d devoted to her. And now, despite Lucky’s assurances, that impulse had cost him their friendly banter and casual closeness. It had cost him her easy smile.

He didn’t know how to get any of that back.

And then came Adamant.

Between Kirkwall’s own special brand of crazy and his time with the Inquisition Varric had seen plenty of weird. The Grey Wardens summoning a demon army and thereby making their mages thralls of Corypheus was still a lot to take in.

Nothing topped ending up physically in the Fade, though.

Varric had been in the Fade only twice before, still a lot for a dwarf, and both times had been spectacularly shitty despite being there with people who were used to dreaming in the Fade. The only person with them who had ever done  _ this _ before didn’t remember any of it.

Somehow things had gotten stranger from there.

It culminated in fighting a fear demon after the spirit acting like Divine Justinia seemed to dissolve into pure light to attack the Nightmare.

Well, no. It  _ actually _ culminated in the Nightmare reappearing.

Varric’s heart felt like it stopped when Hawke volunteered to stay behind and buy time for an escape for the rest of them. He felt dizzy with relief when Alistair volunteered, as well.

Rather than take either of them up on it, Lucky smiled sharply.

“Do you know the really remarkable thing about the Fade?” she asked, a manic gleam in her eye.

“It’s the source of all magic,” Sparkler replied with a smirk, far too relaxed given their current predicament.

_ Mages _ .

“Exactly,” Lucky said, turning to face the demon. “And we have to destroy it. It told us as much.”

The Seeker raised her shield with grim determination. “Let’s send it to the Void.”

If there was one thing Varric had learned over the last decade it was not to bother arguing with a hero faced with impossible odds. There was no way he’d attempt it with four of them. He braced himself with Bianca as Hawke and Alistair prepared to dash in with Cassandra.

It wasn’t too different from fighting a high dragon, really. And the Nightmare didn’t breathe fire.

The mages fought on and on, unflagging, freezing the Nightmare’s legs solid one by one, the Seeker and Alistair shattering them with blows of their shields as Hawke carved huge gashes into its sides and Varric sunk bolt after bolt into it.

Once they’d brought it to the ground Hawke clambered atop it and began plunging her daggers into the thing’s eyes two at a time, twisting brutally. Cassandra and Alistair hacked at its head further until Hawke finally leapt down gracefully as its body began dissolving into the Fade around them.

“Well, that’s the demon army sorted.”

————————————————————

Hawke had made herself scarce as soon as she could manage it once they’d left the Fade. She’d seen Varric’s face when she’d offered to buy them time to escape and she wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable fight.

It bought her a few extra hours, eating with and chatting to some of the Inquisition’s soldiers in a different part of the camp, but she couldn’t ignore her exhaustion forever. She grudgingly made her way back to her tent, one of hundreds set up outside the fortress, and sighed heavily when she saw the light coming from inside.

He could have at least waited until morning.

She squared her shoulders and parted the flaps of her tent, entering to find Varric seated at the small table.

“Before you start yelling, I’d like to remind you that we have a lot of neighbors who have definitely earned a rest,” Hawke said, feigning nonchalance as she made her way over to the chest containing her things.

She started in on the straps of her armor and awaited the onslaught. When none came she paused and looked back at Varric.

He looked stricken, almost haunted, as he watched her. His arms were crossed more as a way to fold in on himself than as a show of anger. Hawke turned back and resumed taking off her armor.

It was rare for Varric to let himself appear at all vulnerable; seeing it now left her off-kilter. She’d been prepared for yelling or a lecture followed up with an exchange of quips and, as it was them, a few drinks. But not for this.

She never knew how to deal with Varric when he was like this. Not really. In the past, these moods had been the result of things that had left her feeling vulnerable, too: Bartrand’s betrayal and having to send Bethany with the Grey Wardens, finding Bartrand again after he’d been driven mad by the idol, her mother’s death, the aftermath of the Qunari invasion, the Chantry explosion, having to flee Kirkwall.

That wasn’t the case now, though, and it left her feeling uncertain and uncomfortable.

So she took her time changing out of her armor, feeling his eyes on her the entire time until she was in her robe and there was nothing left to do but face him.

That she’d felt his gaze at all was odd. He really  _ was _ a gentleman masquerading as a rake; he always looked away or turned away when she had to change clothes or take off armor in front of him. He hadn’t this time, but it hadn’t felt lascivious. With the way he’d looked at her as she’d come in she guessed he’d either been reassuring himself that she was still alive or building up a truly impressive head of steam as he stewed in anger. Possibly both; he was pretty good at multitasking.

Taking a deep breath, Hawke turned and made her way to the table to sit next to him.

“Varric,” she started, resting her hand on his arm and intending to give him some sort of reassurance.

Her voice broke the strange reverie he’d been lost in and his eyes snapped to hers, his shoulders and arms tensing up. She withdrew her hand. There was the anger she’d been expecting. Anger, hurt, and fear.

Hawke knew there was a good reason he rarely let anyone see him like this: he was easy to read once the charm and humor fell away.

“I could have lost you,” he said, the anger in his voice not hiding the lingering fear. “You would have let me lose you.”

“I was doing what was right, Varric,” Hawke replied, trying to stay calm.

“To the Void with that! What if Trevelyan had taken you up on it?”

“Then I would have known you’d all be able to get out and put an end to this.”

“What if it had been me?” Varric hissed. “What if I’d made you stand there and watch as I offered myself up as a sacrifice? If I’d decided to be all noble and stay there and  _ die _ and make you go and keep fighting alone?”

The idea was staggeringly painful, there was no way around it. But –

“You’re hardly alone, Varric!”

“Without you I am!”

Hawke was taken aback, mostly by the painful, hopeful clench of her heart. She made herself push past that. Made herself hold onto the anger that was rising to match Varric’s.

“You have the Inquisition! You have Bianca!”

“ _ Bianca _ ?” Varric repeated with a harsh laugh. “I haven’t had Bianca since before I met you. She’s married, remember? She’s made a name for herself, a life, and so have I. Bianca’s far in the past.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know it by the way you act! ‘The one story you can never tell’, isn’t that how you put it?”

“It would put her in danger!”

“But my story, every painful personal moment, every detail that puts me in danger, that you  _ publish _ ? So half of Thedas knows how I failed my family? How I didn’t see what Anders was doing and failed  _ the world _ ? Oh, but that wasn’t enough. You had to make me look like some lovestruck fool!”

“That’s not why I wrote it, Hawke,” he ground out, looking mutinous.

“No? Then why, exactly, did you write down every failure for the world to see? Why isn’t  _ my _ story one you can’t tell because it’s too dangerous?”

Varric threw his hands up in frustration.

“Are you kidding me? Do you honestly think there was a fraction of a chance that everyone wouldn’t already know? I wanted to set the record straight, to show people who you really are.”

“And I’ve just conveniently forgotten about being madly in love with Anders? Why add that?”

“Forget it,” he replied, running a hand over his face as he stood.

“No!” she stepped in front of him, seething. 

Every little hurt and moment of confusion from that bloody book translating into pain and anger welling up and unable to be pushed aside. “You don’t get to walk away from this. Why add  _ that _ ?”

“Fuck,” he breathed, visibly deflating. “I was the lovestruck fool, alright?”

Hawke froze as her mind brought forth every careful, loving, near-poetic description she’d read since the Inquisitor had handed her  _ Hard in Hightown _ . Her anger melted away, replaced with hope and, unwilling to believe it could be true, confusion.

“You -”

“I thought if I could make people see you like I do, feel about you like I do, that it might protect you.”

“And Anders?”

“At least I could give you some happiness in a story.”

She found herself unable to do anything but stare as things rearranged themselves and slotted into place, suddenly inescapable.

Varric stepped around her and made his way to the front of the tent as she stood silent, mind whirring. He was reaching to open the flaps before she found her voice again.

“Varric.”

He turned back to look at her and offered a weak, rueful smile, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Now you know why I couldn’t lose you.”

She crossed the tent in long, quick strides and came to stop in front of him.

“I’m still here, Varric. You haven’t lost me.”

Varric nodded warily and Hawke huffed out a breath, frustrated. At least he wasn’t trying to leave, now.

“I couldn’t stand to lose you, either. You know that. You must know that.”

“Hawke, I don’t mean -”

“I  _ know _ what you mean, Varric. I – Look, if you want to add in some over-the-top romance -”

“Hey, I maintain that that is an accurate description of how Anders would act!”

She glared at him.

“Can you be quiet for one minute? If you want to add in some over-the-top romance then it should have been with  _ you _ . There’s no version of me that wouldn’t choose you.”

Varric continued to look at her, appearing both pleased and expectant. Either he was waiting for her to continue or, and this was far more likely as it was  _ Varric _ , waiting for a minute to tick by because he could never pass up on an opportunity to be a smartass.

Hawke rolled her eyes,

“Whenever you tell this story,” she said, leaning down until they were roughly eye-to-eye, “I’m going to make sure to add that you decided being a smartass was more important than actually just finally  _ saying it _ .”

A look of annoyance, or perhaps indignance, crossed his face in the second it took for her to close the distance between them and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Varric Tethras,” she said softly as the kiss broke.

He gave her a brilliant smile as he reached up to pull her closer by the lapels of her robe before kissing her soundly.

————————————————————

Varric woke the next morning to the smell of lilac, Hawke’s long limbs draped over him and her face buried against his shoulder. It was over-warm and mildly uncomfortable and made him happier than he could ever remember being.

He briefly debating throwing a pillow to wake her just out of principle before turning to face her and resting his arm on her waist.

Soon they’d be heading back to Skyhold and figuring out the next move against Corypheus. Eventually they’d be going back to Kirkwall to try and once again save their city. But just then it was quiet and they finally had one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Hard in Hightown was just too tempting. I will never be convinced that Varric's writer doesn't ship it.
> 
> Also fuck having to leave someone in the Fade.


End file.
